


A Templar's Duties

by linndechir



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Biting, Breathplay, Dom/sub, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Fixation, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: Dorian is intrigued by the tales he hears about Templars and Circle rules from the rebel mages. He encourages Cullen todemonstratesome of those practices in private.





	A Templar's Duties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cantrip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantrip/gifts).



“I’ve been overhearing some conversations among the mages who’ve arrived recently,” Dorian said into a lull in their game. He kept his tone carefully casual, as if he’d only just thought of this. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager and let on that this was something he’d been meaning to bring up for a while. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but it’s impossible not to overhear them sometimes. I’m getting the impression that they have no sense of privacy.”

Commander Cullen, who’d been studying the chess board and, knowing him, calculating his next five moves, looked up. In the mid-day sunlight – their chess game was quickly becoming a lunch break habit – his eyes appeared almost golden, but the usual warmth in them dimmed a bit now. He looked not exactly suspicious, but wary, like a man who was bracing himself for an uncomfortable argument.

“They didn’t have much privacy in the Circles,” he said eventually. Of course he didn’t deflect. Cullen could be refreshingly straightforward. “I suppose they’re simply used to their conversations being overheard. Whispering and secrets always look suspicious.”

“So those parts are true then?” Dorian raised both eyebrows. “Here I thought I must have misheard … They were watched at all times? No locks on their doors?”

“Of course not.” Dorian’s expression must have betrayed his surprise, because Cullen immediately went on, “Don’t look so surprised, Dorian. If one distrusts mages enough to keep them locked up in towers, it would hardly make sense to leave them unsupervised there so they can do as they please. So, no, mages weren’t allowed to lock their doors or otherwise deny a Templar who wanted to keep an eye on them.”

Back home Dorian had of course heard stories about how mages were treated outside of the Imperium – it was a welcome conversation piece whenever one wanted to go on about how barbaric other countries were – but he’d assumed that some of those stories must have been exaggerated for dramatic effect. 

“That sounds rather exhausting,” he said eventually. “For all parties involved.”

Something about Dorian’s casual tone – had Cullen expected outrage and indignation? – seemed to set the man more at ease again. His eyes softened and the corner of his mouth quirked up in one of those delightful, knowing, and far too rare smirks. And at the same time he flushed like a schoolboy who couldn’t quite believe his own daring. It was a delicious combination, and one Dorian was finding increasingly irresistible. Cullen looked like a man who’d blush his way all through living out his naughtiest fantasies – and Dorian had no doubt they were naughty. No man seemed that honourable and uptight without _some_ deviant preferences.

“Watching you wouldn’t be exhausting at all,” Cullen said in a low voice, as if to make sure _he_ wouldn’t be overheard. Dorian couldn’t quite mask his surprise – while Cullen had started flirting back often enough that Dorian was beginning to believe he stood a chance with the man, he’d never been this forward about it.

“My, was that a compliment, Commander? Winning does get to your head.” He laughed a little, and just to make sure that Cullen wouldn’t misunderstand his words as displeasure, he added, “Of course, if your smugness leads to compliments for me, I have no objections. I’m easily won over by flattery and admiration.”

Cullen’s expression turned more flustered still, a nervous smile flitting over his face before he did his best to return his attention to the chess board. He was winning again, of course. Dorian had been surprised the first time they’d played – he was hardly a masterful chess player, but he thought himself quite decent and hadn't expected to be bested by a mere soldier. The realisation that Cullen hid a brilliant strategic mind – and a dogged determination to win – behind that handsome face of his had turned aesthetic appreciation into more genuine interest.

Which was why Dorian returned to the subject at hand a few minutes later. It was his turn and Cullen had cornered him quite thoroughly, so if all else failed, the conversation could serve as a distraction while Dorian moved a few pieces around.

“So when they talk about inspections, I take it they mean that their rooms were searched?”

“That was part of it, yes.” Cullen had a nice voice, Dorian thought not for the first time. Playful when he was teasing, but so calm and serious when he was talking about his duties, past and present. Dorian had always liked confident men. He didn’t have the patience to tend to anyone’s low self-esteem. “It was our duty to look for forbidden literature, incriminating letters, that sort of thing. But if there was cause for concern, we’d also search the mages themselves.”

“Their pockets?” Dorian asked even as he suspected that wasn’t what Cullen meant.

This time Cullen hesitated before answering. Dorian wasn’t entirely sure if it was shame he saw on his face, or merely reluctance to admit to something Dorian might find distasteful. As so often, though, Cullen seemed to settle for honesty. “No, their bodies.”

Dorian gave him a questioning look, the chess game between them all but forgotten.

“Blood magic requires wounds and blood mages don’t tend to be the best healers. And there are various physical signs that suggest possession …” Cullen trailed off and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It clearly wasn’t a subject he enjoyed discussing. Dorian had only heard rumours about what had happened in Kirkwall, but blood mages seemed to have been a rather persistent problem. Not the best topic for light-hearted, flirtatious lunch conversations.

“So you’d just saunter into a mage’s room and order them to lift up their robes?” he said lightly before Cullen’s mood could darken too much. “That sounds like one of Varric’s naughtier tales. The lusty Templar and the quivering mage.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Cullen looked away. His hand twitched on the armrest and a flash of guilt passed through his eyes. “No, that isn’t right. It was in some cases. There were men and women who … took advantage of these situations.”

“I can’t entirely blame them,” Dorian said. “You lock a group of strapping young Templars and handsome young mages up together, and then you tell the strapping young Templars they get to undress the handsome young mages whenever they fancy … It’d be more surprising if nobody took advantage.”

In some ways, he’d realised during his travels, people were the same everywhere. The details of who took what differed from culture to culture, but in the end they all availed themselves to what they wanted, especially if there were no consequences. 

“I suppose. Still, I never did. That at least you must believe me.” Cullen sounded intense, almost pleading. As if Dorian’s opinion of him genuinely mattered, when most Fereldans he’d met would gladly throw him off the highest battlements. 

Dorian had heard enough things about southern Templars that seemed hard to believe, and he knew that most men were capable of misdeeds one didn’t like to suspect them off. Still, while he had no trouble believing that Cullen was a hard man, he did not seem like a cruel one. Nobody who had made it a habit to rape his charges was so flustered by a bit of harmless flirting. So he nodded at the reassurance and looked back down at the chess board as if that had been it, awkward conversation forgotten. But his thoughts refused to move on.

“So tell me, Commander,” he said after a while, “do you still believe in all that? Because here you are, sitting in a castle full of rebel mages who defied the Templar Order. Do you think they should all be locked up again?”

“I … I’ve given that a lot of thought.” For a minute that was all Cullen said. He was frowning when he continued. “I know things cannot go back to the way they were before. I’m not sure anymore if they should. Too much went wrong, no matter what the intentions behind it were. But I also don’t believe mages should be free to do anything they please without someone keeping an eye on them. Templars weren’t only jailers, but protectors, too. From themselves and from the rest of the world.”

“Ah, of course. You know, in Tevinter a great many masters say that about their slaves.”

“That’s hardly comparable,” Cullen said, visibly offended. Dorian shrugged. He tended to agree that the comparison was flawed – he’d heard it quite a bit from the more passionate rebel mages – but probably not for the same reason as Cullen did.

“What about me then? Should I be kept in a room that only locks from the outside?”

Interestingly, Cullen _stared_ for a moment. Of course Dorian was quite used to people staring at him, and looking rather hungry while they did, but it was not the reaction he’d anticipated at this very moment.

“You’re different, Dorian,” Cullen said quickly and looked away.

“Why, of course I am! Comparing me to your southern mages is like comparing a mountain lion to a kitten. Isn’t that the point? I’m an arrogant Tevinter mage who’s never known a Templar’s strong, protective, restraining grasp.” He made sure to savour the words, and judging by Cullen’s tight, desperately controlled expression, he was imagining exactly what Dorian wanted him to imagine. “Doesn’t that make me far more dangerous?”

“It does. But not to me.” Cullen sounded so certain of it. Dorian wasn’t sure even the Inquisitor trusted him entirely at this point, and yet Cullen at least seemed to believe that Dorian was no danger to him. It was … kind of him, Dorian supposed. There wasn’t much kindness to be had in the South. He quickly chased the thought before he could make too much of it.

“Still, maybe you should come and check on me, one of these days,” he pressed on. “Have a look around my room – I’m afraid you won’t find any exciting forbidden literature because the library in this place is appalling, but still, I know you like to be thorough. And if you do find any – how did you put it? – cause for concern … Out of cultural curiosity alone I would be more than willing to subject myself to a closer _inspection_.”

Cullen breathed in sharply, his gaze fixated on a spot somewhere above Dorian’s shoulder. “Now you’re mocking me, Dorian.”

“Mocking a Templar? I’d never. I understand I’d get in serious trouble for that sort of cheek.”

“I’m not a Templar anymore.” There was a sudden sharpness to Cullen’s tone that made Dorian hesitate. They’d never spoken about Cullen’s past in greater detail – about why he had left the Order, about what had caused the dark shadows that crossed his face whenever someone mentioned Kirkwall. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d discuss with a man you’d only known for such a short time and Dorian didn’t want to pry into what was clearly a very uncomfortable kind of personal. Prying tended to lead to people prying right back. Dorian was all too familiar with past horrors that one didn’t wish to talk or even think about, with wanting to turn one’s back on an old life that had failed to live up to its promises.

“Of course not.” He hesitated, then decided that a pinch of earnestness would be a better strategy with Cullen than sarcasm. “I’m glad you aren’t – I’d enjoy our chess games somewhat less if I was under the impression that you were only here to keep an eye on the evil Tevinter mage. But should you wish to … revisit some old habits with me, I would gladly offer myself up for it.” He spread out his arms and didn’t miss the way Cullen’s gaze slid down to his bare shoulder. “All those robes you lifted without getting any pleasure out of it, you should take advantage at least once.”

“That’s a – a dreadful way of putting it, Dorian.” Cullen tried to sound offended, and Dorian was willing to believe that a part of him was. But he didn’t say no, and he didn’t say it was a bad idea, and he seemed distracted enough after that that he didn’t notice Dorian’s fingers spiriting his queen away, which won him a game he should by all rights have lost.

* * *

It was past midnight when the door to Dorian’s room creaked open. In a fit of optimism he’d decided to leave it unlocked, although he knew that he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep that way. But he didn’t have anywhere to be the next morning and a few sleepless hours were preferable to the risk of turning Cullen away accidentally. 

Warm light from a small lamp fell into the room when Cullen stepped inside, glanced around, and then closed and barred the door. Dorian refrained from pointing out that he presumably couldn’t have done that in a Circle mage’s room, but he didn’t want to encourage him to start dragging furniture around. Any doubts about Cullen’s intentions were lifted when Dorian saw how the man was dressed – no armour, no gloves, no heavy fur sitting on his shoulders. He was wearing a thick woollen coat against the cold and when he shrugged it off, he stood there in nothing but his dark breeches and a linen shirt.

“You could have knocked at least,” Dorian said while sitting up on his bed, the furs sliding down from his shoulders. He took care not to sound too serious, and to his relief Cullen caught on easily. He put the lamp down on the wooden box Dorian kept by his bed, for books and a bottle of wine.

“I don’t _need_ to knock if I want to check on you, mage,” he said. His voice was hard, commanding, but he didn’t move any closer, just stood there like he waited for an invitation. Ever the gentleman, of course. He had seemed dreadfully concerned with making sure Dorian didn’t suspect him of actually taking advantage. 

Dorian was good at unambiguous invitations – a necessary skill in Tevinter, when so many of his peers didn’t dare to make that first step. He pushed the covers aside, artfully letting his shirt slip over his shoulder, and gave Cullen the sultriest look he could master.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of denying you, Commander.” 

Cullen all but devoured him with his eyes, drank in every inch of bare skin they could find – Dorian’s shoulder, his neck, his bare feet. For a moment he wondered when Cullen had last allowed himself this kind of indulgence.

“Good. Undress,” he said curtly. His tone sent a pleasant frisson down Dorian’s spine. He briefly thought about making Cullen work for it, but he did want to encourage the man after all, so he quickly stripped out of what little he wore to bed and savoured the way Cullen couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“Everything to your liking?” Dorian would be the first to admit he was vain – who wouldn’t be with looks like his? – and he did like to be admired. 

“We’ll see.” Cullen was on top of him just a moment later, his thighs straddling Dorian’s hips, his hand pressing him down by the shoulder. It was so sudden that Dorian struggled instinctively, and as if he’d expected it Cullen’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

“Hold still, little mage.” Cullen’s voice was deceptively soft, but Dorian didn’t miss the steel underneath that warm tone. He'd known, rationally, that Cullen was not a man to be trifled with – dutiful, determined, and far more clever than Dorian had thought at first – and he’d seen that iron resolve whenever the Commander gave orders to his subordinates, but he’d never felt the full force of that gaze directed at him.

Or maybe it was simply the hard touch of Cullen’s hands, one on his shoulder, the other coming to grip his chin now, that made the difference. Cullen’s hands were surprisingly cool, the skin rough, his grip unforgivingly firm. Something about those hands made Dorian feel irrationally helpless. It was exhilarating.

“This doesn’t have to be unpleasant,” Cullen continued when Dorian once again squirmed, just to test how much he could move. Cullen’s weight kept him down easily, and the brush of his leather breeches against Dorian’s bare skin was distracting. Cullen bent down until his nose almost touched Dorian’s. He smelt good, of elderflower and mint and other herbs Dorian couldn’t identify. His voice was a low whisper against Dorian’s lips. “If you’re good, this won’t have to hurt.”

Dorian’s cock stirred, at the tone as much as at the words. He’d been with men who had been rough – usually because they were in a hurry, or because they thought what they were doing was less shameful if they weren’t too gentle about it – but none of them had ever threatened to hurt him. At least not during sex. 

“And if I’m bad?” Dorian asked. He kept his voice low, too, the seductive tone he’d long ago perfected for encounters just as this one. He knew what it did to men, and he didn’t miss the way the Commander’s breath hitched.

“Then I’ll have to remind you of your place, mage,” Cullen said simply. The room felt suddenly too warm – Dorian had several magical heat stones to ward off Skyhold’s unbearable cold, and under the heated look in Cullen’s eyes the warmth was starting to feel overwhelming. The men were calling him a lion, and oh, he did look like one now: strong and proud and inexorable, leaning over Dorian like he was prey, his hair golden in the lamp’s shine.

 _Underneath a Templar?_ , Dorian wanted to ask, but when he parted his lips, Cullen’s thumb slid up towards them, retraced the curve of his cupid’s bow, then his bottom lip. He almost seemed transfixed, staring at Dorian’s mouth like a starving beast at the first morsel of food it had seen in weeks. 

“Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful.” The words were gasped quietly, sounding more like the Cullen Dorian was used to – the one who'd got flustered the first times Dorian had flirted, the one who had seemed surprised that Dorian’s interest had been genuine rather than only playful, as if he wasn’t the most handsome man in Skyhold, not counting Dorian himself of course.

Cullen was still petting Dorian’s lips, the careful touch turning rougher now, his thumb forcing them to part further so it could push between them.

“And you _know_ just how beautiful you are,” he continued, and now something almost like anger flashed through his eyes. “The way you preen and flaunt it. You’ve been taunting me with it, teasing me, goading me into this. It’s not my fault –”

He interrupted himself, as if he’d been about to say something he didn’t want to admit, something too serious for what was supposed to be just a game. Dorian didn’t like to turn this sort of thing serious, it inevitably ended up with him making a fool of himself and ruining what was meant to be good fun. Nobody wanted that.

So he arched his hips up until he drew a quiet gasp from Cullen’s lips, and he raised his hand to the Commander’s broad shoulders, let it slide to the side of his neck and into his thick hair. It didn’t look quite so perfect this late at night, curling at the nape of his neck when Dorian ran his fingers through it.

“One of you terribly righteous men is bound to develop an interest in _protecting_ me,” he said, layering the innuendo on thick enough to make Cullen flush even now. “Might as well be the handsome one.”

“You better behave then,” Cullen said a bit too quickly, tearing himself away from whatever it was that had darkened his thoughts just now. His lips moved, like he was trying out a few words he wasn’t sure he should say. But fortunately for Dorian, Commander Cullen was not a man of half-measures. “Or I might just call in some friends to help me subdue this unruly mage.”

Dorian couldn’t bite back a groan at the image those words conjured – he’d slept with several men at a time before, but those had been pretty, obedient elves at Minrathous brothels, oiled up and perfumed and eager to please. The thought of a half dozen men like Cullen passing him around between them like he was one of those elf slaves at a particularly decadent party made Dorian shudder. Not that he was sure he could take half a dozen Cullens, judging by the thick hardness he felt through those leather breeches. Kaffas, of course the man was big. As if he hadn’t already been irresistible.

Cullen’s fingers were on his mouth again, once more forcing his lips apart before he bent down and kissed Dorian hard. It wasn’t like any kiss Dorian had ever had before – neither the deliberate sensuality of a whore nor the hurried, desperate need of his trysts with men like himself. It was a pointed act of dominance, his thumb firmly keeping Dorian’s mouth open while Cullen licked into it and bit at his lips with hungry impatience. 

His other hand was sliding over Dorian’s torso as if he was trying to touch every inch of him at once, rough to the point of bruising him when he dug his fingers into Dorian’s hip to press him back down onto the bed. A moment later it lingered on Dorian’s nipple, at first only petting it gently before he tightened his grip, teased and then twisted when Dorian only moaned in encouragement around the finger in his mouth. Venhedis, he wouldn’t be able to look at Cullen’s hands anymore without thinking of this, of that delicious tingling of pain when Cullen pulled lightly on the sensitive flesh.

“Quiet,” Cullen ordered and hushed Dorian by licking into his mouth again. His thumb was slick when he withdrew it from Dorian’s mouth and rubbed once more over his lips. “Keep your mouth open for me.”

“I’m not sure I can stay quiet then,” Dorian said softly, the last word getting lost in another moan when Cullen’s thumb pressed painfully against his chin.

“You better try, unless you want someone to hear us.” Cullen’s hand was travelling down over Dorian’s throat now. The contrast between his dry fingers and his spit-slick thumb was oddly distracting. He’d wanted to say something, but it seemed rather irrelevant now under Cullen’s hands, soon joined by his lips as they pressed greedy kisses to Dorian’s shoulder, then his chest. His teeth grazed Dorian’s skin again and again, light nips at first, and when Dorian both flinched and moaned under those they turned into actual bites, hard and bruising and delicious. It was like being mauled by a wild animal and Dorian found he had no objections to it whatsoever.

“Beautiful,” Cullen all but moaned against his hip before he bit him again, sucking another bruise into Dorian’s skin. Every one of them seemed to heighten Dorian’s senses almost unbearably, or maybe it was simply the fact that Cullen was stubbornly ignoring his cock. He tightened his grip on Cullen’s hair, only to have his wrist grabbed and twisted down against the sheets.

“Behave,” came the warning, with a twinkle in Cullen’s eyes that was half playful and half threatening. Dorian’s wrist ached in that unrelenting grip, a sharp contrast to the gentleness with which Cullen now wrapped his fingers around the base of Dorian’s hard cock. His expression was almost awe-struck, as if it still surprised him that Dorian wanted him – or maybe just that Dorian wanted him like this. Cullen breathed him in greedily, then rubbed his cheek against Dorian’s cock. The scratch of his stubble should have been unpleasant, but all it did was make Dorian arch up into his touch. 

“Maker, you smell good.” There was something almost reverential about Cullen’s tone, though it didn’t keep him from giving Dorian’s balls a firm squeeze before his lips moved on to thighs that were shaking from the effort of holding still. Cullen bit him there, too, moaned against the bruise when Dorian let out a sound that was far too close to a whimper, and then rubbed his scratchy cheek against the sensitised skin. He wasn’t even _doing_ much and Dorian was already too impatient to hold still. Cullen’s touches felt half worshipful and half possessive, and it made him want more of both. 

Then he was suddenly gone. Dorian opened his eyes – he hadn’t even noticed he’d closed them. Cullen was kneeling between his legs, his gaze flitting hungrily over Dorian as if he couldn’t decide what to do next. One of his hands had come to rest on Dorian’s ankle, curled around it as firmly as it had been around his wrist earlier. When Dorian wriggled his foot, the grip tightened. Cullen was still wearing his shirt – damn that man – but Dorian didn’t need to see his muscles to feel how easily they could hold him down. He licked his lips. Cullen’s gaze predictably flitted to Dorian’s mouth.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Commander, if I behaved,” he drawled. “But what _are_ you going to do to me? Since you could do, well, anything you liked and I couldn't stop you.”

Again that expression of guilty desire that made Dorian shiver with anticipation. He’d gladly believed that Cullen had never taken advantage of his charges, but he was beginning to think that Cullen may well have wanted to. That this was as much his fantasy as Dorian’s, only for Cullen it was motivated by familiar, long repressed desires rather than the thrill of novelty.

He half expected Cullen to flip him over and have him right there, but maybe Cullen didn’t want to be so predictable. Or maybe he just couldn’t take his eyes off Dorian’s mouth. He let go of Dorian’s ankle, then straddled him again, this time higher up. The leather of his breeches was almost too rough on Dorian’s abused nipples, on the bruise Cullen had left on his chest. Rough fingers forced Dorian’s mouth open again – when he tried to resist, Cullen pressed his index hard enough into Dorian’s cheek until he relented, his touch so certain, as if he knew just where to apply pressure.

“You’re not trying to hide anything from me, are you?” The corner of his mouth quirked up when Dorian squirmed underneath him. Oh, he _likes_ this, Dorian realised. Liked Dorian struggling as if he wasn't desperately hard for more. He could think of half a dozen smart retorts to Cullen’s words, but Cullen’s thumb was pressing down on his tongue, keeping his mouth open. “Such a pretty mouth … You’ll keep behaving, won’t you? If I feel your teeth, you’ll regret it.”

Dorian could only moan in reply, tried to lap at Cullen’s thumb. This time he thought to ask for permission with a brief glance before he put his hands on Cullen again, quickly undoing his breeches and pulling out his cock. Dorian’s mouth watered at the sight of it, thick and long, the base nestled in dark golden curls. He wanted to bury his face in them, breathe in Cullen’s scent and and show him just how damn good he was at this, but Cullen seemed to have no interest in letting Dorian show off. He swatted his hands aside with almost insulting ease, and the next thing Dorian knew his arms were pinned to the bed by Cullen’s knees. It hurt, yes, but Dorian’s brain barely registered pain at this point. Cullen’s cock had barely even brushed against his chin and already Dorian felt as fully surrounded by him as he usually did when he got fucked.

For a few moments Cullen teased him, the bastard, rubbing the tip of his cock against Dorian’s parted lips, and his grip on Dorian’s jaw was still so vice-like that he could hardly do anything about it. It had been a while for Dorian, too, and the last time he’d found someone willing to touch the evil, dangerous Tevinter mage, it had been a quick fuck in a dark abandoned corridor during which Dorian hadn’t even got to see the other man’s cock. When Cullen finally pushed inside him, Dorian moaned around the thick length as enthusiastically as if he’d been the one on the receiving end of this.

The position left him helpless to do much more than open up and try his best to relax his throat, because after the initial teasing, Cullen was ruthless. He pushed in deep enough that Dorian gagged a little around him, his throat constricting helplessly, but there were few things Dorian liked better than that. His upper body was all but immobilised, his twitching cock entirely ignored while Cullen rocked into his mouth, slow thrusts, but each of them deep enough to bring tears to Dorian’s eyes.

Cullen let out a strangled little noise at that, his other hand reaching down to brush one of the tears from Dorian’s eyelashes, then rub the moisture into his skin. 

“Maker’s breath, Dorian,” he gasped, and a moment later he spilt into Dorian’s mouth, or rather down his throat, deep enough that Dorian only tasted him when Cullen started to pull out, the spurting head of his cock dragging over Dorian’s tongue and then leaving a wet smear over his chin.

Dorian only realised how badly he needed to breathe when Cullen pulled away a little, letting go of Dorian’s arms and lifting his weight off his chest. He gasped for breath, was still filling his lungs greedily when Cullen’s fingers were back on his face, rubbing the come into his skin just like he’d done with the tear earlier.

“Are you all right?” Cullen asked, leaning down to meet Dorian’s eyes. There was that softness again, that genuine concern that made Dorian’s chest as tight as Cullen’s weight had. “Maker, I’m sorry, Dorian, I went too far –”

“Nonsense,” Dorian said quickly. His throat was a little sore, but his cock was still hard and the taste of Cullen’s come only made him want more. He turned his head so he could brush his lips against Cullen’s, letting him taste himself. “You merely took what was yours to use, Commander, isn’t that so?”

He covered Cullen’s hand with his to keep it on his face, made sure to meet his eyes until relief flooded Cullen’s expression. Dorian knew he must look wrecked, tears and come streaking his face, but Cullen still looked at him like he had seen the Maker himself. 

“Right. Of course.” Cullen laughed, fine lines crinkling around his eyes, and kissed Dorian effusively, moaning at the taste. “And you actually like being used …”

Cullen was stretching out on top of him now, dizzyingly heavy. “You can hardly blame me then, my pretty mage,” he mumbled against Dorian’s lips and kissed him again. 

“I’ll blame you if you don’t do something about how much I like this.” Dorian was too impatient to feign reluctance, not with Cullen’s wet cock sliding against his own. He slipped his hands underneath Cullen’s shirt and then pulled it over his head. When he saw the thick scars that spanned Cullen’s shoulder and chest, he couldn’t quite hold back a surprised gasp. They had healers in the South, certainly there was no need for this – but judging by the look in Cullen’s eyes it was better not to ask about that. So he grabbed Cullen’s wrist instead and pushed it down towards his cock, shivering with impatience.

“Greedy, aren’t you?” Cullen growled against his lips. “No, not like this, I want to see.”

He quickly moved them around, pushed Dorian onto his side and then slotted himself against his back, one hand finally on Dorian’s cock, the other finding its way to Dorian’s throat. 

“Maker, Dorian, you’re perfect.” The words were just a whisper against Dorian’s temple, as if Cullen hadn’t quite meant to say them out loud. Dorian closed his eyes when he felt Cullen’s lips move over his cheeks, lapping up the tears that had been spilt earlier while he gave his cock a first squeeze. It should have bothered him maybe, a distant part of Dorian’s brain observed, how much Cullen seemed to enjoy his tears, but then maybe it should have bothered him just as much that he’d loved spilling them in the first place, that it had driven him half insane to breathe only at Cullen’s leisure.

As his hips jerked to meet Cullen’s touch, he pressed Cullen’s other hand more tightly against his throat. He wouldn’t have thought he’d wanted that before tonight, but his cock twitched at the same moment as the air was caught in his lungs when Cullen’s grip tightened.

Cullen’s lips were moving against Dorian’s cheek and his temple, mumbling soft words of praise that Dorian could barely make out over the rushing of his blood in his ears. His eyes had closed again at some point, his skin seemed to burn in every single spot Cullen touched – his back, his cheek, but above all the twin pressure on his neck and his cock. Cullen stroked him in a firm rhythm now, but there was no such regularity to the way he pressed down on Dorian’s throat and let him breathe again, let him gasp for air and then cut him off again. It barely felt real anymore, more as if he was floating, his whole body trembling in desperate, delicious anticipation – he almost felt as if he was about to black out the moment he stumbled over the edge, and that’s when Cullen finally let go of his throat, letting Dorian breathe in while he spilt over Cullen’s rough fingers.

He must have – not quite blacked out, no, but drifted off into an ocean of blissfully unthinking sensations for a few moments. When he opened his eyes and blinked against the soft light in the room, Cullen had both his arms wrapped tightly around him and his face buried against the back of Dorian’s neck. His breath felt cool and steady on Dorian’s sweaty skin, his fingers idly spread Dorian’s come over his stomach in a way that felt almost absent-minded.

“I hope you’re not going to blame me for the mess you caused, Commander,” Dorian said after another minute or two, once there was enough air in his lungs for words. His voice sounded a little hoarse. Cullen smiled against his neck.

“Mhm, I could, though. You could hardly stop me, mage,” he said, but the words sounded teasing now rather than threatening. He kissed Dorian below the ear. “I’d rather just clean you up.”

A soft nibble on Dorian’s earlobe and then he licked over the shell of his ear as if to emphasise just what kind of cleaning he had in mind. At least that was how Dorian chose to interpret it.

“That is,” Cullen added after a moment, tensing up behind him, “if you’d like me to.”

Dorian knew that tone all too well. He’d used it himself more often than he cared to remember. They’d fucked, both of them had come – and rather spectacularly, too, if Dorian was any judge – and now they’d reached the point in the script where they’d both reassure each other that it had meant nothing and that neither would mention it the next day before quickly dressing and leaving the scene of the crime. 

But Cullen was still holding on to him, and he still sounded like he wanted more. Dorian certainly did, and as long as it had been for him, he had no doubt that it wouldn’t take him _too_ long before he could go again. Cullen’s cock had softened, but it was still a deliciously warm presence right against the crack of Dorian’s arse. Certainly Cullen could be persuaded to stay long enough for more.

“I’m going to insist even,” Dorian said. He turned his head to look at Cullen over his shoulder. Sweat had darkened his hair a little and made it curl against his forehead, his cheeks were flushed, and there was a bit of come – Cullen’s own come – clinging to that dashing scar of his right where it met his lips. Dorian licked it off with the tip of his tongue.

“I thought that was part of your Templar duties as well, taking care of mages,” he purred, and then had to laugh when Cullen sputtered.

“Maker, Dorian! That’s not what it was like!”

“Oh, I know that, but it’s a nice idea.” He grinned and made himself comfortable, limbs stretched out and for once in this Blighted place properly warm. “And I cannot believe you’re blushing about this after what we’ve just done.”

Cullen bit his neck, just hard enough to smart a little.

“Be quiet, mage,” he said and then kissed that same spot. “Or I’ll make you regret your insolence.”

“Good.” Dorian pressed back against him and made a point of rubbing his arse against Cullen’s cock. “And you haven’t been very thorough yet in inspecting me, Commander. Who knows what I could be hiding?”

Cullen laughed against his neck, a soft, warm sound that Dorian had only heard a few times before, when Cullen had been particularly delighted about beating Dorian at chess. He liked that laugh as much as he liked the scratch of Cullen’s stubble against his neck and then the sensation of Cullen’s hand, still slick with Dorian’s come, sliding from his stomach over his hip to his arse. That was always a bad sign, that warmth spreading through his chest rather than only his skin. 

Dorian had always been excellent at ignoring bad signs, especially when handsome men were involved.

He let out an encouraging little moan when Cullen’s fingers dipped between his cheeks, not doing much more for now than rubbing his come against the soft skin.

“You want me to be thorough?” Cullen mumbled into Dorian’s ear. His cheeks were burning hot. It was always nice to be right in his judgement of a man – blushing even while living out his fantasies.

“Exceedingly thorough, Commander. You do have a responsibility to the Inquisition after all.”

Cullen shook his head, then nuzzled Dorian's neck again.

“You’re impossible.”

“Why, thank you, Commander. I strive to be.”

Dorian was warm, and comfortable, and once the dizziness had lifted not even a little sleepy. Neither was Cullen, judging by the appreciative way his hand kept moving over Dorian's arse, feeling it up and teasing him with the promise of more. It had been a good night, and Dorian was confident it would only get better.


End file.
